


Humanity

by PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire



Category: Being Human (UK), Being Human (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst, Box Tunnel 20, F/M, Fluff, Love, MAJOR FUCKIN SPOILERS BRO, Massacre, Romance, Season 2, Spoilers, Violence, s2, soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire/pseuds/PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitchell's thoughts while the bloodlust is in control and during the season 2 finale. Not as fluffy as the last Mitchell/Annie fic I did, but the beginning of the relationship is there, from Mitchell's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humanity

Rage. Rage boils within him, thick and red like blood.  _Bitch. You bitch. What the fuck have you done to me?_

 

She was going to be his saviour, and keep awake the desperately human part of him that hates being like this. The part of him that won't rest until the monster inside of him is dead and no longer wriggles out of his throat and chokes the man he dreams of becoming. The beast. The monster. The  **vampire.** The power of the lives he's taken courses through his dead veins without there being a heartbeat to propel it, the curse of the vampire weaving its way through his veins and making him the most alive being on the planet. 

 

He barely feels the addage to his soul as he rips the throats out of each and every person on that train. He's not thinking and he's not feeling- not the way a  _human_ would. He can't think of anything more... Vulgar. Scarcely more than monkeys, or, a better comparison, ants. Crawling their way around their pathetic two-dimensional sphere of existence, not seeing, sensing, scarcely feeling an iota of what he can feel. They're walking talking bloodbags to him, and they deserve to be destroyed. They didn't accept him as one of them, and why should they? He's better. So much fucking better. 

 

He doesn't take in their faces. He's too busy consuming their sounds, their liquid life, and their scent of terror that fades to the reek of death as they stop moving in his arms. The last person alive on that train is a young girl, mid-20s, with dark hair and frightened eyes. 

 

He drinks her intimately, from the weakest point where her neck and shoulders meet. Daisy pops up behind her and drinks from the other side of the girls neck as she gurgles and is gone for good. 

 

No, no human will ever feel like this. 

   /\  /\

    0   0

~  \/ \/  ~

     .    .

 

The human part in him almost wins out. It's grappling with the rage, the hurt, the lust- everything in him the humans he's just ripped from this world could control so easily, he can't. He's tried so hard to go straight, not to let this side of him be... 

 

Annie. Annie saw him like this. Shame punches him in the gut. The things he said to her... Christ, what the hell was in his head? The look of fear on her face is one thing he had never wanted to see; and if George hadn't come back when he did- fuck... Her beautiful face marred with worry for him- her  _friend._   _Her friend who just ate 20 or so people she has no inkling of. God, what am I going to tell her? I was feeling rejected? Just a mite peckish?_ Nothing is going to right the wrongs of tonight, and he doesn't want it to. 

 

If it wasn't for some small part of him that is sane enough to sense is friends are in trouble, he'd stay at that table until he rots into a husk of self-loathing and bloodlust, more so than he already is. 

 

   /\  /\

    0   0

~  \/ \/  ~

     .    .

 

 

He wants to drain her. He can make it painful. Oh god, he wants to hear Lucy screaming the way he's screaming inside. The tiny shred of humanity she could have nurtured is sparking on his soul like a flame, burning against the darkness in such a painful way that her human body wouldn't be able to handle it. The feeling of your soul being on fire, he knows, is incomprehensible to these small-minded religious fuck-jobs.

 

He tries to clear his mind- tries to focus- George and Nina. They came here. George and Nina. They're in trouble. He has to find George and Nina and get them out of here. 

 

Lucy is struggling against him while the monster that's in control of him is playing with her- putting up just enough of a fight to tire her- when he feels it.

 

It's a pure stab to his gut. It's not his humanity that's ripping his soul in two, it's something else. Something that runs far deeper and is far more terminal and infinitely dangerous. He doubles over with the pain of it as he falls to the ground and Lucy runs away- she gets to escape and live another day, but his rage doesn't register that. He only registers the feeling of fingernails scraping against the floor in vain, a throat raw from screaming.  _George! George!_ Then he cries out as he finally feels a piece of him tearing from this world- no, not tearing-  _being torn-_ And he screams, a horrific sound that tears out of him to become a roar. 

No. 

Not _her._  

Anyone but _her._

 

"ANNIE!" He roars as he gets up and runs.

 

For the first time in over a century, his humanity and the monster are working in tandem. They're both something that the words like 'pissed', 'rage', 'malevolent', or even 'Biblical' would fall short of in describing. He's never felt this before, and if some part of him is scared then the fear fuels his rage and he's intent on choking the life out of Kemp. It's George, sweet, kind George who would never hurt a fly and yet killed for Mitchell before, who talks him down with a simple sentence.

 

_Not in her name._

_Don't you dare do this in Annie's name._

 

_Annie..._

 

The old man is released and he runs, just like Lucy, with twice the cowardice. 

 

   /\  /\

    0   0

~  \/ \/  ~

     .    .

 

The safehouse is quiet until she flickers on the telly. 

 

Her lovely brown curls are matted as if with damp and her cheeks are streaked with tears that he wants to wipe away for reasons he can't yet tell, but the piece of his soul is still on fire when he sees her and it flares up again at the fear on her face, even with his humanity in complete control. There's only one thing John Mitchell is certain of, and it's that he has to find her. He has to put right what went wrong, because if he saves her then maybe- just maybe- a piece of his soul will regain a humanity he's been missing for all of these years.

 

_I will find you, Annie Sawyer._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about all the angst, but it's the first time I've written anything like this before (with all the violence and the blood and the whatnots) so please let me know what you think and if you have any constructive criticism!
> 
> Haters will be placed on the train.


End file.
